The Pieces of Sherlock's Heart
by Brandolyn
Summary: Post Reichenbach. Several years after Sherlock's return, John finds his friend in the Emergency room at St. Bart's waiting for news about one of the victims of a gruesome car crash: a young woman named Brianna Turner, a young woman who happens to be Sherlock's wife. A story about Sherlock and John, with flashbacks to how they met their wives.
1. Chapter 1- Bad News

The sound of sirens echoed in his ears as John Watson raced through the all too familiar entrance to the Emergency room at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He was used to the chaos and noise of the Emergency room, but it was the distressed shrieks of his best friend that knotted his stomach.

He had been out to dinner with Mary when he received a text,

St. Barts.

Emergency room. Now.

I need you

-SH

and immediately excused himself, racing off without another word toward the Hospital.

Sherlock had a number of bad habits, dangerous enemies and personality quirks that could have landed him in the Hospital and John never knew what to expect when he got a phone call saying that Sherlock was at Bart's, but today Sherlock had texted and asked for help. _I need you_. He had never said that before, which made Dr. John Watson even more nervous.

Sherlock was prone to fits of rage, but he had always dealt with his anger in an eerily calm fashion. Today he was loud, obnoxious and livid. His deep voice carried clear across the Emergency room as he yelled at the Hospital staff.

"Sherlock!" John yelled for him. He pushed his way through the onlookers gathering to see who was causing all the fuss, and pushed back several security guards with the flash of his St. Bartholomew's Staff badge. "Sherlock!" He called again. "What is it? What's happened?"

Sherlock was being held against the wall by a burly security guard, looking nothing more than stressed, as he yelled insults at everyone around him.

"That's _enough!_" John yelled as his military training kicked in. "Sherlock stop right now! Victor, let him go. Everyone else, go about your business!" No one moved until John turned and glared before threatening to have Victor escort them all outside if they didn't move away.

When Victor let him go, Sherlock slid down the wall and sat on the floor; his eyes were red, and unfocussed.

"Sherlock? What happened?" John looked around the Emergency room for the only other person who could have calmed his friend when Sherlock opened his phone and held it out to him.

It was a text message that read:

Hailing a cab. Be there soon.

-B

John looked from the phone to Sherlock confused. Sherlock looked at the phone, scoffed and scrolled down before turning the phone back to John.

Another message, from the same number:

I found this phone at the site of a car crash. No owner. Hopefully the owner only dropped it as they passed by. Police said the ambulances are going to St. Bart's.

Sorry.

"Oh my God." John stood and raced to the Triage desk. "Any information on Brianna Turner?"

From the floor Sherlock heard the nurse behind the glass mumble some apologies and John's intake of breath.

"What do you mean you've no updates?" He asked angrily. Again the nurse shyly apologized. John slammed his fist on the desk and marched back to Sherlock.

"I need you to take a seat. The victims' files are all mixed up. They have no idea which one Brianna is, I'm going to go take a look. I need you to stay here."

"What do you mean they have no idea which one she is?" Sherlock's fierce blue eyes focussed again and he shot up past John and slammed his fists against the glass of the Triage desk. "Brianna Turner!" He yelled. The nurse shrieked and jumped back from the desk. "She has short white blonde hair, round green eyes and a small nose that turns up slightly at the end. She's 5'-8" and wears a sapphire pendant around her neck! She wears a silver ring on each hand, and has a scar in the shape of a star on her right hip! HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW WHO SHE IS?"

John pulled Sherlock back from the desk and sat him on the ground again. "Sherlock stop. I'm here to help." A nearby colleague of Dr. Watson's had witnessed Sherlock's latest scene and cautiously came over. He put a hand on John's shoulder and said, very bluntly,

"Look John, in this case, even a description of 2 arms and 2 legs isn't enough to identify some of the victims."

John's heart clenched, and Sherlock froze for a moment. Sherlock looked at John's colleague and fixed him with a glare that left no mystery to the amount of hatred Sherlock held for this man; John kept holding on to him in case he lunged forward again. Slowly and deliberately Sherlock returned to the calm rage that terrified John. He spoke very clearly and demanded,

"Let. Me. See. My. Wife."


	2. Chapter 2- Without Sherlock

Without his constant companion, John moved out of the flat he had shared with Sherlock, and left Mrs. Hudson to find a new tenant for 221B Baker Street. Unable to live in the flat alone; staring at Sherlock's empty chair or at his porcelain tea pot, John took Sherlock's violin and moved closer to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He found himself a little apartment in a building that used to be student housing.

Without Sherlock to follow and inspire his blogs, John re-applied to the hospital in the hopes that if his hands were busy, his mind might stop thinking of his friend. With his credentials John had no problem getting a job at Bart's, getting a good job was a different story; he started as one of the evening surgeons.

Although the hours were awful, the work at St. Bartholomew's was steady and comfortable for Army surgeon Dr. John Watson, but working the evening shifts still gave John plenty of time during the day for his mind to wonder. He wondered how he could have saved Sherlock and how he could have prevented the fall. He would ask himself how Sherlock could have done it; left him behind before he would remember how much he missed his friend. There were too many hours in the day, so John; after constant prodding from Mrs. Hudson during their weekend luncheons, decided to get psychiatric assistance again.

Three months after starting his weekly visits to the psychiatrist, Dr. Veronica Hughes was confident that John wasn't dangerous; he was just lonely. Confident in her assessment she suggested that John get himself a new companion, something to care for. Before hailing a cab John had picked up the morning newspaper and was searching the Classifieds for "Puppies for Sale" as the cab rattled down the winding streets back to his apartment.

Defeated John tossed the paper onto the empty seat to his right and looked out the window at the rain drenched streets beyond as the cab came to a lurching stop. His training forced him out of the car after he heard a thud followed by a pained cry.

He met the driver at the front of the car, but his years of training had not prepared him for what he saw; a scruffy looking English Spaniel, trying to limp away from the cab. John cautiously approached the dog, and with the confidence of a doctor examining a patient, worked his hands over the dog before picking it up, putting it on the other side of the cab's bench seat and ordering the driver to deliver them to the nearest animal hospital.

It was there, covered in dog hair and mud, that Dr. John Watson first met Mary.

As the Veterinary Assistant on Duty, Mary held open the door for John as he carried the injured animal into the clinic. She was dressed in purple scrubs patterned with cartoon kittens, with her blonde hair carelessly tossed into a bun at the base of her neck. Her blue eyes relaxed and her pink lips softened almost to a smirk when John put the spaniel on the nearest examination table and gave her his _Field Diagnosis_. The anatomy of dogs and Humans is different enough, but Mary liked his authoritative, no nonsense bedside manner. His chest was heaving as he looked up at her pleading for her help. While she took note of the dog and its broken leg, she noticed John's upright posture, and the hand that continuously ran across the dog's side.

"How long have you two been together?" She asked John politely taking the dog's face in her hands before she took him off to the operating room.

"About 5 minutes." John confided. "My cabbie struck him with the car."

Mary looked shocked, but less from the dog being hit by a car, than by John's confession that he barely knew the animal.

"By the look of you two I would have said you'd been together for years."

Mary kept the dog, whom John cleverly nicknamed "Dodge", at the clinic for a week. John visited every day. At the end of the week, Mary decided to let John take Dodge home, until the unlikely event that someone came in looking for their missing dog. Fortunately for John, no one claimed the dog, and Dodge acclimatized immediately to life with the Doctor. John spent his days with Dodge, going to parks and walking by the clinic to see Mary and spent the evenings at the Hospital. Eventually the walks by the clinic turned to walks to pick up Mary for lunch and before long the walks turned into nightly arm in arm escorts home.

So when Mary answered the door to their house on the eve of her and John's first anniversary of marriage to see a dapper looking man with loosely curled dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a long dark coat, Mary wrapped the stranger in a tight hug and invited him inside before he opened his mouth to say, _Hello_.

"John dear, there's someone here to see you." Mary's voice was childlike, full of excitement as she called down the hall to her husband. John, stretched out on the sofa with Dodge on the ground at his side, sat up curiously. He pet Dodge's head wondering who would be calling this late in the evening before standing and heading to the front hall.

He had hardly taken two steps when the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes stepped into the living room and met his gaze. John froze, as the haunting image of his best friend stood before him. He had spent months after _the fall_seeing Sherlock standing before him, or walking away just out of reach, but since he met Mary and Dodge he hadn't seen him in years, and now, on the eve of his anniversary, the ghost was haunting him again in his own home.

Mary was speaking, but John couldn't make out what she was saying, his eyes were locked onto the dazzling blue eyes of his delusion. Mary gently put her hands on her husband's face.

"He's real sweetheart, it's not a dream. It's really him."John blinked twice and moved around Mary. He stared at Sherlock who stared back. Sherlock didn't smile, he didn't even smirk, he merely nodded. John's hands balled up into fists at his side as he slowly approached his old friend and punched him in the face.

"John!" Mary shrieked jumping forward to Sherlock's aid. From the corner Dodge sat up curiously watching his master, poised to intercede if he was needed.

"No, no, my dear, don't fret. I quite deserved that."Sherlock said unsurprised. John nodded his head briskly.

"Frankly I think you deserve another one," said John rolling his shoulder back. Sherlock looked at his friend incredulously.

"Is that really necessary?"

John didn't answer. Instead he started to pace around the living room Dodge once again at his heels. Mary and Sherlock watched quietly. Mary slipped her hand into Sherlock's and squeezed briefly. She smiled at him and asked as the kettle whistled in the kitchen,

"Can I take your coat? The kettle's just boiled. I'll bring some tea."

Sherlock thanked her and strode into the living room. The room was warm and glowed amber by the light of the fire. The room was cozy, furnished with quilt draped sofa chairs and pictures of John, Mary and Dodge adorning the walls. On the mantle sitting on a stand, polished and perfect looking was an old violin. John had taken great care with it. It was obviously the most treasured piece in the room, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to see that.

Mary came in carrying a tray with two tea cups, milk and sugar, placed it on the table in the middle of the room and kissed John on the cheek.

"Arty, come on. Let's leave these two alone." Dodge happily walked to her side and followed her down the hall to the study.

"Arty?" Sherlock asked.

"He survived getting struck by my cab, so I named him Dodge after the Artful Dodger in Oliver Twist. Mary thought that was mean, so she calls him Arty instead."

Sherlock chuckled and the tension in John's shoulders released instantly. He bent down made a cup of tea for himself and one for Sherlock.

"I assume you still take your tea the same way?"

"Hmm." Sherlock affirmed.

Carefully balancing the tea cups in their saucers, John joined Sherlock by the fire. Sherlock took one from John, took a quick sip and thanked him. Sherlock's eyes wandered around the room again, finally landing on the violin once more. He couldn't believe John had kept it. They stood in silence for a while before John cleared his throat.

"You don't look any different. You haven't changed a bit."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I wish I could say the same." He said. Sherlock was not mad, or disappointed. Simply put, he was surprised, and a little impressed with how much John had changed; he was married, had his own house with a yard for the dog, he had even let the hair on the top of his head grow out a bit so that the ends of his hair showed slight signs of curling. He had a few more grey hairs on his blonde head, and his stomach was slightly rounder, showing that Mary was a very good cook.

"She seems very lovely John." Sherlock said, prying his eyes away from John's round middle.

"She is." John nodded, then followed Sherlock's gaze around the room. "A lot has changed in my life Sherlock, but it hasn't been the same without you." Both men looked at each other and smiled, sipped their tea and each sat back into a sofa chair lapsing into conversations that John never though they would ever have again.


	3. Chapter 3- Moving On

After being reunited with his best friend, Sherlock left the house of Dr. and Mrs. Watson and went in search of something from his past life that hadn't changed quite so much. He was relieved to find that Mrs. Hudson still lived on Baker Street. She was older and thinner, but she still scolded Sherlock for making her worry.

"You nearly sent me to my death bed with the grief of it! And John!" She gasped. "I should disown you right now for the pain you put that poor man through!" She looked at him accusingly.

"I've seen him." Sherlock reassured her, but Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips stubbornly and kept staring at him. "And he's seen me." Sherlock added. "I even met Mary."

"Oh. Good then."

"Actually I was wondering if our old flat was available?" If Sherlock could have looked bashful he would have, instead he looked quite bored as he bluntly asked for a place to live. Mrs. Hudson threw her arms up in the air and started bustling about her apartment, up the stairs and pounded on the door to 221B. Sherlock heard raised voices, and then the slam of a door before Mrs. Hudson trotted down the stairs straightening her dressing gown.

"You'll have it by midday tomorrow." She said proudly patting Sherlock on the hand. "Need a place to spend the night?"

Sherlock shook his head and thanked Mrs. Hudson for the room before leaving. He tightened the scarf about his neck, and pulled the collar of his jacket up to protect his face from the biting cold night's wind before heading down the street and out of sight of 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock readjusted to life on Baker Street quickly. The flat looked much like it had when he and John had occupied it, complete with his violin that Mary and John had gift wrapped and returned to him as a house warming gift. And his job was much like it was. Busy. He still had many loyal fans who sought to employ him, but without John, the job wasn't quite as much fun as he remembered.

One particular case, not one of the most bizarre cases he had ever worked, had him pass through The National Gallery. As he left the gallery a woman at the front desk caught his attention. He watched her for a moment as she took a small piece of charcoal and sketched a drawing of a young girl and her father as they admired the grandeur of the architecture inside The Gallery. Once they moved on, her eyes landed on an elderly couple walking hand in hand as they entered the building.

Sherlock couldn't help but be mesmerized by her. She was so wrapped up in her work, that the bustling world around her ceased to exist. In the moment there was nothing but her and her subject. Sherlock could sympathize with that kind of focus. Then her gaze fell on him. She saw him watching, and smiled as she flipped to a fresh page in her sketch book. Her eyes flitted from the page before her up to him, holding his gaze. Her eyes were bright with delight, and she smiled at him when she was done. Across the room she turned the sketch around and showed it to him. Even from a distance he could tell that she was very talented with a pencil.

He nodded a goodbye and turned to leave.

"Did you enjoy your visit?" A bright summery voice asked from behind his left shoulder. Chest heaving, and slightly pink in the cheeks, the girl from the desk stood behind him. Sherlock realized she had sprinted across the entrance hall to his side. Not only was she a talented sketch artist, but she was very quick too.

"Um, not exactly."

"Oh no." The young woman seemed genuinely upset. "Is there anything we can do to make it better the next time you visit? Was there a painting you couldn't find?"

"No, I didn't come for the art." Sherlock said.

"Oh, alright then." She looked at Sherlock as if she were trying to read his mind and smirked. "Next time you really should take a look at the art. We have quite the collection you know." She teased. Her smirked grew into a wide smile that showed off her perfectly white teeth.

Sherlock simply nodded and left.

That night as John ascended the stairs to 221B, for their nightly chat, he heard Sherlock playing a beautiful new tune. It was lively and electric making John take the stairs 2 at a time. He avoided the creaky patch on the landing and watched from the open doorway as Sherlock stood, eyes closed in the center of the room, playing. He stood very still, only his upper torso moving with the instrument. Sherlock standing in 221B, playing his violin was a sight for sore eyes, but it wasn't the same as John was used to. He had seen Sherlock acting similar to this when Irene Adler had been pronounced dead, but this wasn't quite the same as that either. John's only deduction was that this was a new emotion for Sherlock. Which one, however, was a mystery.

Sherlock finished the piece and opened his eyes to see John standing in the hallway. His shoulders dropped and he invited John inside.

"The water's boiled, or would you like something stronger?"

"Tea is fine." John replied. "Mary will be by to pick me up shortly."

Sherlock nodded and busied himself about the kitchen, riffling through specimens and experiments to find the last remaining clean utensils.

John smirked. Only Sherlock would think to keep the _clean_ cutlery by the petri dishes. He held out his hand for his cup and thanked Sherlock as they took their usual seats by the fire.

"How was your day then?" John asked casually. Sherlock immediately stood up and started pacing around the small living room, tea cup in hand.

"Uneventful." He replied.

"Really? No case?" John inquired.

"Oh there's a case."

"And?"

"You want to help?" Sherlock asked somewhat hopefully. It wasn't that he couldn't solve it without John, he just preferred when he was there with him.

John shot him a childish glare, as if to say _Come on, I've got a real job now._

"I thought not. Either way, I'll be going back to The National Gallery tomorrow."

Footsteps out in the hall got louder as Mary's voice called up from the entrance.

"Did someone say National Gallery?" Mary's blonde head appeared in the doorway. She smiled in at the men and looked around. Sherlock nodded his head in the direction of the tea pot; a clean cup, saucer and spoon were waiting for her.

John looked to Sherlock with surprise. Sherlock merely shrugged and continued to pace.

"Yes Mary, I mentioned to John here, that I would be visiting the National Gallery tomorrow, for a case." He added quickly.

"Oooh, I love the National Gallery!" Mary's eyes squeezed together happily as she sat on the arm of John's chair sniffing her tea. "I always thought I'd be an Art History Teacher if I wasn't a Veterinary Technician." She paused presumably daydreaming about the great collection of works at the Gallery. "The case, it's nothing dangerous I hope."

"Oh not at all. As far from dangerous as one can get in my line of work. That's why I asked John if he would accompany me."

"Well of course he will!" Mary said matter-of-factly.

"Will I?" John nearly spat out his sip of tea. He coughed chocking on it and looked to his wife concerned.

"But we're supposed to go to the Theatre tomorrow."

Mary waived a hand and dismissed him.

"Your friend needs you. I'll be fine on my own."

"Well, actually Mary," Sherlock piped in, "you could join us too. I don't so much need help solving the case as I need help going unnoticed. So if we were all to go together…" He trailed off, and John stared at him in shock. Mary held out a hand and closed his mouth.

"Can I really?" She asked, sitting on the edge of John's armrest.

Sherlock nodded.

"And it's safe?" She asked again.

"You won't even know I'm working." He said goodnight to the couple and watched them step outside and hail a cab.

Outside on the curb, huddled together, waiting for the cab Mary rested her head on John's chest.

"That was weird wasn't it?" Mary asked politely.

"I'm not sure if weird is the right word, it was out of character for sure." John rephrased.

"I wonder what's gotten into him." Mary pondered. "Either way we'll have a lovely day tomorrow."

John scoffed, and covered it up, pretending to cough.

"Mary?"

"Yes?" She asked as a cab turned down Baker Street and John stepped away to wave it down. "When Sherlock said we'll have to be quiet, he really means it. He's yelled at me for thinking too loudly."

Mary laughed as John opened the door for her and motioned for her to enter first.

"I'll be on my best behavior." She said sweetly before she sealed her promise with a kiss.

The next day Mary was true to her word. She and John were on their best behavior even before arriving at the Gallery. In the cab ride over John thought Mary looked almost bored.

"I thought you wanted to go." He asked.

"I do." Mary replied. "I'm practicing for Sherlock." Her comment made John erupt in hearty chuckles.

"No wonder he likes you." John teased. "He's promised to behave as well." The cab stopped and they looked out to see the dark silhouette of their friend standing by the road waiting. "It could be fun." John said apprehensively as Mary opened her door.

"Why didn't you wait inside Sherlock? It's freezing."

"I'm fine." He replied curtly and followed the others through a set of big double doors into the entrance hall. Sherlock took great care to avoid glancing over to the front desk until John called and waved him over to the ticket line. Casually he approached scanning the desk for the familiar bright face of his acquaintance from the day before.

"What are you looking for?" John had noticed his wandering eyes.

"It's for the case. Now shut up." Sherlock dismissed John and bought his ticket from an older woman named Nel. She was sour-faced and terse, as if she had been stuck at the same job for too many years. She wished him a good day without a trace of emotion and he wandered over to John and Mary who were being wished an enthusiastic, if not completely forced, good day by another teller.

They started their day in Room 46, looking at contemporary art by Degas, and Van Gogh. John and Mary enjoyed the art in perfect silence as Sherlock paced around the room. In mid circuit he stopped in front of a painting of Sunflowers. He tilted his head one way, then the other, trying to discern some cosmic realisation from it, with no luck.

"Sunflowers are the symbol of happiness." A voice peacefully cut in at Sherlock's left arm. Sherlock jumped slightly, and looked around to see the blushing face of the young woman from the day before. Yesterday she had been in a blazer, with the name tag Penelope, today however, she was in what Sherlock assumed was her regular day wear. She wore: dark form fitting jeans, sneakers, a black turtle neck covered by an ivory knit sweater, capped with a bright turquoise knit hat. Her hands were covered in black charcoal dust; it was under her fingernails and left little finger prints all over the cover of her sketchbook. "Enjoying the artwork this time?"

Sherlock nodded discreetly.

"Oh no." John groaned as he looked around to see Sherlock standing with the knit clad young woman. "He's probably telling her why her favourite artist is nothing more than someone with a warped view of reality." John groaned. "Let's go save her."

As they approached Mary pulled back against John slightly. She was watching Sherlock who was quietly looking from a painting of Sunflowers to the woman beside him. She was waiving her hands around wildly as she spoke, gesturing from the Sunflowers to other paintings in the room. She seemed perfectly comfortable, and oddly enough, so did Sherlock.

"Sweetheart, I don't think she needs our help." Mary whispered.

"Nonsense Mary, of course she does. Ahem!" John cleared his throat loudly. Sherlock turned nonchalantly to face John.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Well, umm." John stammered. "Mary and I are headed to the next room, come on." He gave Sherlock a pointed,_leave the poor girl alone_, look. Sherlock's new acquaintance looked disappointed.

"Please tell me you didn't start in this room."

"Shouldn't we have?" Mary asked politely.

"Well, you've started The Gallery backwards. It's hard to appreciate how far art has come, unless you know how it got here. If you've got the time you should start in room 1." She said pleasantly.

"Thank you. You seem to know a lot about this place. My name is Mary."

"John." He said extending a hand for a shake.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm..." She paused and stared at the couple for a moment. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at them critically. "I know you." She mumbled quietly. Then she sat down on the floor and started flipping through the pages of her sketch book. John looked down at her wearily. "No, no, definitely not." She whispered. She flipped the page once more and shrieked. "Aha! I knew it!"

Sherlock, John and Mary jumped slightly, startled by the noise. John looked around the room to apologise to the other visitors, but found that room 46 was completely empty, apparently the rest of the visitors knew to start their visit in room 1.

A tapping on his forearm brought John back to the strange girl sitting on the floor and her book. She was sitting on the ground holding open a sketchbook to a page with, what was very evidently, John and Mary sitting on a park bench holding hands.

Mary bent down to admire the drawing closely.

"This is beautiful! It's at the park by our house."

"My brother lives across the street, so I go there to draw whenever I visit."

"You are very talented my dear... Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Penelope." Sherlock answered smugly.

The girl on the ground looked up at him curiously, closed her sketchbook and asked,

"What makes you say that?"

"Your name tag yesterday."

"You were here yesterday?" John looked from Sherlock to the girl. "You met her yesterday?" John stammered as his brain tried to connect the pieces of the puzzle.

Patient as ever, Mary squeezed John's arm pleading her tactless husband to shut up. The girl, un-bothered by John, let out a hearty chuckle.

"I forgot my name tag at home yesterday. I had to borrow a friend's." She calmed down and smiled up at Sherlock. "I'm sorry for the confusion. My name is Brianna." Sherlock shook the hand she offered him.

"It was nice to meet you Brianna, but we should head to room 1 now, Sherlock are you coming?"

Sherlock released Brianna's hand and turned to follow John and Mary.

"Sherlock?" Brianna asked. Sherlock bowed his head and left. "It's a pleasure to meet you Sherlock." Brianna said softly. If she had any idea who he was, she did not show it. Her green eyes squinted when she smiled at him and she watched as he followed John and Mary from the room.


	4. Chapter 4- The clock ticks

Once he knew it was Brianna who was in the Emergency room, John quickly phoned his wife.

"It's Bree, and it's bad. Can you come?"

Quick to run to the aid of her friends, Mary had arrived at the Hospital no more than 6 minutes later. She threw herself through the sliding double doors, wind blown and out of breath. She looked around for John and saw him, dressed in scrubs, jogging down the hall to see her.

"I'm going to try to be of service. Can you stay with him?" He nodded his head to Sherlock sitting on the waiting room floor, one wrist handcuffed to a bench of chairs bolted to the ground. Mary nodded. "Thank you."

Mary approached Sherlock slowly and sat on the ground beside him. She made sure not to touch him, and whispered,

"Sorry" as she pulled her knees close to her chest.

Sherlock grunted and looked up at the clock. It felt like the minute hand was taunting him, although the second hand kept clicking away, the minute hand barely moved. Time was testing him.

"What happened?" Mary asked.

"I've no idea." Sherlock mumbled. His voice was hoarse and defeated. His eyes were red, and his skin was gaunt. He looked hollow, even the curls in his hair looked limp.

"That must be the worst part, not knowing." Mary muttered.

"No," said a little voice from nearby. "Knowing is much worse." An older woman, looked up from staring at her shoes. "Believe me when I say, you're lucky you don't know."

Sherlock's head shot up.

"You saw what happened?"

The woman nodded. Her eyes swelled with tears and she buried her face in her hands again.

"Tell me!" Sherlock demanded. The woman did not look up and continued to shake her head no. Like a lion leaping at prey Sherlock launched himself off the floor as close to the older woman as his tethered arm could reach. The arm that was cuffed to the seat was extended uncomfortably behind him. He kneeled as close to the stranger as he could and pleaded. "Please."

The woman looked up and looked at Sherlock through tear soaked eyes. Something, maybe desperation, or anguish in his face made her reach into her pocket and pull out a mobile phone. Clumsily, with shaking hands, she scrolled through the phone and passed it to Sherlock. Mary kneeled at his side and looked at the phone's screen.

It was a video.

The phone shook in Sherlock's nervous hand before Mary took the phone and held it so they both could see. She made sure the sound was muted and pressed play.

The pair watched as the phone filmed the aftermath of a 3 car collision in an intersection. Pedestrians lined the streets as a cab pulled up, and Brianna leapt out of the car and raced to the nearest vehicle. She spoke quickly to the people inside and ran over to the other car. Hands moving as she spoke, they could tell she was instructing the bystanders not to come closer, and to look out for traffic.

She was only able to reach two of the cars and focussed her efforts there. Brianna moved calmly and efficiently as she opened the doors to the further car. She ran back to the first as smoke started seeping from under the hood.

The passenger door was stuck, and Brianna cleverly used a rock to break the glass. She threw her coat through the window over the broken glass and reached in. A moment later she emerged carrying a baby.

Mary gasped as Brianna handed the child to a cab driver and raced back into the street for the mother. She threw herself into the car and dragged out the mother. She ran back into the street another time to check the cars as a group of bystanders raced into the street waiving their hands. The camera dropped as a 4th car sped into view crashing into the others. A billowing wall of fire and smoke obscured everything from view, Brianna included.

Mary turned off the phone and handed it back to its owner, who wiped her eyes again.

"It would have been a million times worse if that woman hadn't been there to help those people."

"That's my woman." Sherlock sighed. Before he retreated to his spot against the wall, the stranger took his hand in both of hers. Her touch was freezing.

"Then you should be very proud of her."

"I am."


	5. Chapter 5- Bells Chime

Laughter erupted from the living room covering up a knock at the door. Dodge, being the only one who heard the visitor, barked and ran to the door. John stretched his legs and followed the dog to the door. He checked the peep-hole and opened the door.

"Sherlock! Come in, the ladies are in the living room."

"The _ladies_?" Sherlock asked puzzled. John smirked and followed Dodge back through the house. He took his seat across from Mary and watched as Sherlock stoically entered the room. He flashed a smile at Mary, who welcomed him, and then saw Brianna seated on the couch beside her. He nodded his head to her and took a seat in the sofa chair closest to the fire place.

"So what brings you here Sherlock?" John asked.

"I was in the neighbourhood." Sherlock shrugged.

"Really? On a case?"

"No. I just fancied a walk."

"Did you walk all the way from Baker Street?" John pried nosily. Sherlock did not look impressed with his friend. He looked about the room and saw Brianna, fingers dirty as ever, listening carefully.

"How are you Mary? How's work?" Sherlock avoided the question.

"Same as always, but I guess that's why you like your job. It's never boring."

"What is it you do?" Brianna asked. She was genuinely curious, he could hear it in her voice. Sherlock found it hard to believe that she didn't know who he is, or what he does; he'd been all over the papers, but she seemed to want him to tell her anyway.

"I am a Consulting Detective." Sherlock answered.

"What does that mean?" Brianna wondered.

"It means he shows off for a living." John teased. Mary gave him a half-hearted scolding.

"It means I use deduction to assist the police on otherwise unsolvable cases." He paused. "I can look at a person and see what they are; a Veterinarian, a Surgeon, an …" Brianna held up one hand bashfully.

"Please don't, it would be awful for you to see me before I show you." She paused a moment. "If you give me time, I _will_ show you."

John dropped the last bite of his cucumber sandwich surprised by Brianna's comment, but Sherlock, although taken aback, saw the comment as the innocent offer of friendship she had meant it to be.

"I guess we have more in common than we knew. I do the same thing with my sketches, only I look at a person and I can tell you _who_ they are."

"Is that different?"

"Yes and no. I'll show you sometime." Brianna picked up her sketch book and gave Mary a hug. "Thanks for the visit but I have to be at my brother's for supper, so I really should be going."

Clearing his throat, Sherlock stood.

"Shall I escort you?"

Brianna smiled.

"But you just got here."

"Oh don't mind us. We'll still be here when you get back." John said waving a dismissive hand. Both Sherlock and Brianna brightened up as they gathered their coats.

"Then I can show you the difference between seeing _what_someone is and _who_someone is on our way."

John could have sworn Sherlock blushed when he held the door for her and watched as she replaced the turquoise knit hat over her short, white blonde hair, before thanking him for holding the door. The moment the door shut behind them, John turned to Mary, his jaw hanging open.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Mary shook her head and smirked.

"I don't think he even knows yet, but they are very cute together."

"What? The sociopath and the sketch artist?"

"Relax John. Didn't you watch them? You're not going to find a sweeter, more genuine, innocent person than Brianna. Besides, he's mesmerized by her."

"It's not fair for her. He doesn't _like_ people. He doesn't know how to get enamoured with a woman. I don't think he's ever been _in_a relationship. The closest I ever saw him come to caring about a woman was Irene Adler. He was mesmerized by her too, but he never cared for her. She was intriguing. She was a new experience, a puzzle and _she_ was a Dominatrix!"

"John, relax!" Mary pulled him onto the couch. "They're both adults. Let them figure it out."

As Mary had anticipated, and to John's great surprise Brianna and Sherlock started a courtship a few weeks later and 3 months later, to John's amazement again, Brianna moved into 221Br.

"You're joking!" John exclaimed. "She actually wants to live with you?"

"Is it really that difficult to imagine? You lived with me!"

"That's exactly why!_I_ know what you're like." John stammered. "Does she even know you at all?"

"We moved in together the first day we met! Was it _really_ that bad?"

John shook his head.

"I need you to understand, there were days I wanted to kill you, and days I nearly did, but no Sherlock, it wasn't bad." He took his seat again, opened the paper and asked, "How's your latest case? Figure out what the rubber bands were doing in the bathtub?"

The next year, while out for dinner with John and Mary, Brianna announced their engagement, which resulted in John choking on a mouthful of chicken. After a coughing fit, and drinking the rest of his glass of wine John looked up at his friends seriously.

"You're what?"

"We're getting married John." Brianna said seriously. "It's nothing to get choked up about." She teased. The smirk that spread across her face was mirrored on her partner's and John could not help but think that Sherlock couldn't have found himself a better match. Brianna was pretty and witty, and not shy on quirkiness. She was focussed and driven, whimsical, spontaneous and full of life.

While Brianna showed off her ring, and bubbled away to Mary about something that had happened at work, John leaned in toward Sherlock.

"Congratulations Sherlock. I didn't know you had it in you." He took another bite of his chicken, and looked up to Sherlock excitedly.

"It's rude to talk with your mouth full. Swallow that before you ask me anything." Sherlock said monotonously. John swallowed his dinner quickly.

"Can I be there when you tell Mycroft?" The words spilled out of his mouth so fast, that Sherlock barely understood what he had said. Visions of Mycroft's reaction to Sherlock's engagement were playing across John's mind, each more entertaining than the previous, and he desperately wanted to see which one would happen.

"We have to tell Mycroft?" Sherlock asked seriously.

"Yes!"

"Can't I just send him a text?" Sherlock asked, producing his phone from his pants' pocket.

"No you can't text it to him! You have to tell him in person."

"Ugh." Sherlock groaned. "Who else do we have to tell?" He asked in his usual bored tone.

"Well, her family, and Mrs. Hudson of course, but who cares, can I be there when you tell Mycroft or not?"

"If you must." Sherlock sighed. John beamed happily at the table and ate the rest of his dinner in silence.

Unfortunately for John, Mycroft was already aware of his brother's engagement when they decided to pay him a visit- one of the perks of working for the secret service: you're never surprised.

Brianna and Sherlock were married at a Registry Office not far from their home on Baker Street. Brianna wore a short, off white dress with lace sleeves and blue/green shoes; that matched Sherlock's eyes, while Sherlock wore a plain black suit; fitted so tightly he nearly tore off the buttons. Sherlock wore his hair curly and tousled, while Brianna's white hair was coiffed into a tidy Bob.

The Holmes/ Turner Wedding was a short ceremony, with a small gathering of guests; John stood at Sherlock's side, while Brianna had her friend from work; Penelope, at hers. Mary, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Brianna's brother Philip and his wife Jean made up the rest of the guests. Anyone who had ever met Sherlock would have never imagined him in a relationship, never mind getting married, but there he stood, smiling broader and more sincerely than even he knew was possible, tying his life to a woman, while she gladly tied her life with his.


	6. Chapter 6- The Doctor's News

John pushed aside the door into the Emergency room and found Sherlock and Mary still sitting side by side on the floor looking like ghosts of their former selves. The Emergency room exploded with questions when he entered, but with the flick of one hand he dismissed everyone else in the room.

He bent low in front of Sherlock, who was spinning the ring on his left hand anxiously. John spoke very clearly.

"She's alright. She just got out of surgery. She was treated for a broken leg, 3 fractured ribs and a bump to the head. She's still sleeping, but I can take you to her room, if you'd like." He motioned for the security guard to remove the handcuff and heaved Sherlock off the floor. Mary sauntered along behind the men quietly. She heard the Emergency room applaud, and saw all the smiling faces and thumbs up, given to John and Sherlock.

"Thank you." She whispered back, bowing her head deeply. "Good luck to your families."

Brianna Turner's room was not far away; up one floor and to the left. It was small, with one bed, and 3 chairs already set up around it. Sherlock swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair nearest the head of the bed and very delicately put his hand on hers. His face was impassive, but his body was torn between relaxed and tense. John and Mary watched him from the doorway.

"I have to go back and see if they need any more help."

John left Mary in the hall looking in on Sherlock and his unconscious wife. She grabbed a blanket from the nearest nurse's station before entering Brianna's room and draping it over Sherlock's shoulders.

Looking at Brianna was heart breaking. Her face and arms were covered in small cuts from all the glass, and her forearms had slight 1st degree burns from the explosion. It was a miracle it wasn't worse. There was a gash that had been stitched up with a great amount of care on her forehead, just below the hair line. Her hair was still stained red from the blood, and her left leg was in a plaster cast, but she was alive. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically.

"Sherlock, she's alive. You can relax. Close your eyes, I'll watch over her. I promise I'll wake you if she stirs." Mary squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. His colour had come back slightly now that he was no longer separated from her, and he had stopped spinning the black gold wedding ring on his finger. He held tight to Brianna's hand, lay his head on her bed and fell asleep immediately.

Mary kept watch for hours, turning away visitors and accepting thank yous and wishes of good health on Brianna's behalf.

"How long has he been sleeping?" John had changed out of his scrubs and met Mary in the doorway.

"He passed out as soon as he sat down. I thought you said he was an insomniac?"

"He was." John yawned.

"You need some rest too. Sit down, I'm keeping watch." Mary ordered leading John to the chair beside Sherlock.

When Sherlock woke, Mary was taking a cup of tea in a Styrofoam cup from one of the nursing staff. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows, _do you want this?_ He shook his head no.

"She's had a lot of visitors." Mary whispered taking the last remaining seat as Sherlock stretch his arms and upper torso. After he stretched one hand dropped immediately back onto Brianna's. Sherlock looked around the room and saw a dozen thank you cards, and two _Get Well Soon_ teddy bears sitting on the dresser beside the bed. "She helped a lot of people, their families just want to make sure she's alright and thank her for her help."

Sherlock looked down at the sleeping figure of his wife. She was bloody and broken, and had scared him half to death, but he couldn't have been more proud of her. He delicately kissed her forehead before striding from the room without a word.

John stirred as Sherlock passed. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, John stretched and followed his friend from the room. Mary let them go, putting her hand over Brianna's in Sherlock's absence.

"It's alright Bree. Keep sleeping sweetheart, we're watching over you."

It didn't take John long before he found Sherlock wondering the halls between the gift shop and the cafeteria. On top of being an insomniac, Sherlock barely ate, especially not under stress, and had never been one for sentimental trinkets, so circling between the gift shop and cafeteria was very out of character.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

Sherlock shook his head unsure.

"Let's go for a walk." John suggested, and started leading the way down the hall away from the cafeteria. Sherlock fell into step beside his friend and they walked together, in perfect unison, like they had so many times in previous years. Sherlock stopped abruptly and John took a moment to notice.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm sorry John."

"For what?"

Sherlock didn't reply at first.

"If what I put you through... if what you felt," he paused, "felt anything like this, then I'm sorry." He looked away from John and stared at his polished shoes.

"Oh Sherlock." John put a hand on his shoulder. "This is completely different." He explained. "You are my best friend. Of course it hurt when I thought I had seen you die, and it hurt for a long time, but you did it to save me and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade! I don't blame you for that."

Sherlock wasn't listening.

"Sherlock look at me." John demanded.

He didn't.

"Dammit Sherlock, don't make me punch you again! I enjoyed it far too much the last time, it might become a habit!"

Slowly Sherlock looked up at John.

"I don't blame you, just like you don't blame Brianna for helping all those people. Understood?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good."

They walked in silence for a long while until Sherlock stopped again, this time outside the Nursery.

"Have you ever thought about it?" John inquired.

"About what?" Sherlock asked turning his face to John. The Doctor raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the glass of the Nursery window.

"About having kids."

Sherlock chuckled his deep soothing laugh and shook his head.

"No. Bree's got enough on her plate with just me, and I with her." He shook his head again. He seemed to forget his worries for a moment. "Can you imagine it? Sherlock Holmes and Brianna Turner, as parents?"

"Yes." John said sincerely. After a brief chuckle at a personal joke, he continued, "That poor child."

Sherlock returned his grin for a moment before the shadow of despair returned to his features.

"Alright Sherlock, let's head back."

Back in Brianna's room John noticed a large bouquet of flowers was sitting in a vase near the bed. Mary noticed him admiring them.

"They're from Mycroft. He doesn't miss anything, does he Sherlock?"

"My brother misses plenty." Sherlock said abruptly.

"So do you." A faint voice said beside Sherlock. He spun around to see Brianna trying to sit up, delicately holding her ribs.

Sherlock moved to the head of the bed and helped her sit up. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and examined her carefully. She smiled and held a hand out to him.

"Don't you dare say anything corny, like _I thought I'd lost you_, 'cause we're both here and I'm fine. Right?" She looked past Sherlock to John who nodded.

"Apart from a broken leg, a few fractured ribs and a bump on your head." He confirmed.

"See?" She beamed again, crinkling her forehead, and tugging at her stitches. She winced momentarily, and in that instant Sherlock's lips were on hers in a tender caress that made both John and Mary blush. Other than the kiss at their wedding, Sherlock and Brianna never kissed in front of anyone.

John turned to Mary and whispered,

"If they have a boy, I'm voting for Hamish."


End file.
